


Three Black Cats

by KrumPuffer



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Anger, Angst, Boyfriends, Boys Kissing, Character Death, Death, Goodbyes, Kissing, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Minor Character Death, References to Drugs, Sad, Science Boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:01:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27248464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrumPuffer/pseuds/KrumPuffer
Summary: Ronan Lynch didn't know he needed to say goodbye, he didn't know a lot of the reasons behind why he couldn't shake Joseph Kavinsky, when he had Adam by his side.  But sometimes you have to truly let things go, to move on.  Even if you didn't think they were significant, but especially when they were.
Relationships: Joseph Kavinsky/Ronan Lynch, Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Comments: 12
Kudos: 38





	Three Black Cats

“I won’t be home if you were coming here after work tonight,” Ronan said, as he slid into his worn Doc Martin boots—these boots meant business.

“Where are you going that you are dressing for a war?” Adam asked, slipping his feet into steel-toed boots, so worn the steel shown through on the toe—these boots meant hard labor.

“I have to take care of some unfinished business. Something that’s been on my mind for a while now.” 

“So, you’re _not_ going to tell me?” Adam asked.

“Not yet, no. If I tell you it will start shit, and I can’t go into this with me and you in a weird place. And I can’t do this if I think you disapprove and it needs to be done, because, fucks sake Parrish it feels like another brick gets added to my chest every time I think about it and I don’t do anything to fix it, and it's literally starting to cave in on my chest.”

Adam stood, pulled his blue Dickies mechanic jacket on over his thin white tee and walked over to his very distraught, and highly out of character, emotional boyfriend—it was new, but it didn’t change the title— _his_ boyfriend.

“Whatever it is eating at you I support you fixin it. Just promise me it's not dangerous, and promise me if it requires a dream, you won’t do it alone.”

Ronan looked away as Adam got closer, guilt overtook him. He wasn’t lying, but he wasn’t giving all the details. Ronan always told the truth, and when he teetered on breaking his one rule, which didn’t happen often, he would just omit the facts that gave him away.

Adam didn’t ask more, so Ronan didn’t tell more. 

There was an awkward silence between them, just long enough to make Adam feel like he did something wrong, and just long enough to make Ronan feel like he would lose this boy sooner than later.

Ronan reached out and took Adams hand in his, gently rubbing the rough skin of Adam’s palm. Adam looked down at the simple show of intimacy and he felt his body warm at the newfound affection between them.

“So, are you going to reassure me you are going to be safe? Or am I going to be a wreck all day at work?” Adam asked, breaking the silence—he wasn’t good at all of this _relationship_ stuff, but he’d be damned if he left here with the newfound pain in his gut he was feeling.

Ronan took his gaze from their hands, and finally landed some eye contact with Adam, Adam deserved it, he knew Adam was worried.

“I’m not dreaming Parrish, and you don’t have to worry, I’m not doing anything stupid.”

Adam smiled a hint, “You’re not doing anything stupid, like _normal_ stupid, or you’re not doing anything stupid like, _Ronan_ stupid?”

“What’s the difference, Parrish?” Ronan said, a hint of a smile on his face.

“I guess it’s the difference of stealing a car for a joy ride, or stealing a car, smashing it through a building, and then watching it burn down.”

Ronan laughed, “I don’t have to steal a car—I can dream one.”

Adam just shook his head. That was neither apples nor oranges, but Ronan won this round.

“Well I better be on my way, I think I might start on that Ford early, I think it needs more work than meets the eye,” Adam said. 

“No shit, it’s a Ford.”

Another bout of awkward silence filled the gap between them. Neither knowing what came next, what was allowed. First moves still anxiety-ridden.

“Okay,” Adam said.

“Okay,” Ronan replied, and then he tugged Adam into his chest, and kissed his lips tenderly—just once.

“Okay.” Adam said, again, then leaning in, he kissed Ronan, just once, and left.

It wasn’t the goodbye either wanted, but it would have to do. 

They would get better at this, and Ronan knew it started with what he was going to take care of the second Adams piece of shit car left dust behind as it pulled away from Monmouth.

\--

Ronan finished getting dressed, pulling on a black bomber jacket and a black skull cap. It wasn’t a cold enough day for what he was wearing, but where he was heading there might be storms.

He hadn’t been able to sleep for weeks and it showed in the dark circles under his eyes, his temper being shorter than usual, it showed his inability to be in a moment—with anyone. 

It had gotten worse since him and Adam. Since the kiss, and then Adam wanting to kiss him back, and then Adam wanting to be with him. It had all gotten so much worse. The anxiety. The guilt. The feeling of betrayal he carried. Every time he should be enjoying Adam, pictures of another invaded his mind, like two movies playing at once and he wanted to watch the blockbuster, but he couldn’t enjoy it over the low budget, made for TV movie blasting in his ear. 

He couldn’t fully love Adam Parrish until he laid to rest his emotions towards Joseph Kavinsky.

He never loved Joseph Kavinsky, in fact, he oftentimes hated him, loathed him—wished him dead. 

But without Joseph Kavinsky, there may not _still_ be a Ronan Lynch, and he knew that. Ronan knew that everything he was able to do—and do it well—was because of Kavinsky. To dream, to be fearless, to be unashamed…to be gay. 

Ronan knew that he would have always been a Greywarren--Kavinsky removed. But would he have ever dared to do what he could with his dreams, were it not for late nights, red pills, broken bottles and rushed, intoxicated sexual experiences with Kavinsky? He thought not. 

And worst of all, Ronan knew, that he was the lucky one. He was the Neville Longbottom and Kavinsky was the Harry Potter. Both of them jaded; dead parents, hard past, dreamers, drugies, loners, angry, gay. Both of them dealt cards from the same deck, only Ronan’s hand was better. He had Gansey, and Adam, and Noah, and Blue. Ronan had Matthew and fuck if he would admit it out loud, he had Declan. 

What did Kavinsky ever have besides dreamt up friends, and dreamt up drugs, and dreamt up dreams? Kavinsky lacked the one thing that held Ronan together, the one thing that kept Ronan from being just like him—dead, and six feet under. Ronan could have been the Harry Potter, it could have been him that became the martyr, but because of Kavinsky, here he was, the prophecy fulfilled, only Harry doesn’t wake up in this story, he doesn’t come back to save the day, he doesn’t ever get to hear Ronan say, _I’m sorry it wasn’t you, I’m sorry I used you, I’m sorry I didn’t try to help you. I’m sorry you’re dead so I can be alive._

Ronan knew he had to do this. He had to make his peace and say his goodbyes.

He pulled up to the manor-style home Joseph and his cronies lived in. The windows boarded up, now property of the state, since Joseph had no one to leave it too. 

Ronan walked up to front door--a door he walked through many times before, and just like before he checked over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching, only this time it wasn’t because he was ashamed to be caught with Kavinsky, this time he was ashamed that no one ever knew.

It was unlocked, the door handle busted. The inside was untouched, but to a foreign eye you would have thought the house had been vandalized. The walls were covered in graffiti and the furniture was thrashed, slashes in the cushions, cigarette burns on the carpet. The floor was littered with the fossils of late night parties; pizza boxed and beer cans, broken liquor bottles and the stench of something rotting in a corner close by. To a stranger this would seem like squatters had moved in, junkies, drunks, but Ronan knew. Ronan knew this was the norm. Ronan knew this was the home of a sad, sick, deranged, lost boy. A boy with too much power and not a single person to help keep him grounded. 

Joseph Kavinsky lived fast and he died the same way. 

Ronan kicked aside trash and made his way to the back of the house, the master suite. A room he was all too familiar with. A room where he learned to fight, learned to dream, learned to fuck (without emotion) and learned that if it wasn’t for his friends and family, he would be just like the boy that once inhabited this room.

Kaminsky’s room was the only room in the house that wasn’t a pigsty. It wasn’t clean either. But it was livable. Above the king size bed was a mural of Jesus and on the bedside table were several Virgin Candles, the lights had gone out when Kavinsky died and would stay that way Ronan was sure. The room was full of dream things, all dead, not that they were ever living, but dead because their dreamer was gone. Hats that would never be worn, blunts that would never be smoked, pills that would never be popped, blankets that would never be warm. 

Ronan opened the bedside table and found over sixty pairs of white Ray-Ban sunglasses, his heart raced, and his memory was flooded with visions of the face that wore them, the thin cocky smile, the long fine nose, the dark eyebrows, the eyes behind them bloodshot—sad. 

Ronan slammed the drawer shut and moved on. He came here for a reason. To lay this to rest, this beating in his chest, the constant reminder that he didn’t save Kavinsky—that he didn’t even try. He used him up, took what he needed, but never offered him a hand, or asked how he could return the favor… with something more than cheap sex void all emotions on his end.

He pulled back the blankets, willing his mind to fight off the memories that burned in his chest to revisit, the ones that held many firsts, ones that were blurred and heavy with substance, bad choices and regret the morning after.

When he didn’t find what he was looking for in the bed, he searched the bathroom, the bathtub, under the bed. He crossed the room and opened the double doors to the grand walk-in closet. He stopped dead in his tracks. There they were, lifeless, huddled together in a little bed, his last creation—three black cats.

_“What do ya think Lynch? My newest dream babies. I call this one Jack, this one Cock sweat and the runt, I call him Ronan, because he’s a fucking pussy, like you.”_

Ronan could hear his voice perfectly, he played that day out over and over constantly. It kept him from sleep. It kept him from loving Adam properly. It robbed him of forgiving himself no matter how many masses he attended, no matter how many hail Mary’s.

_“You’re fucking sick Kavinsky, you know that?”_

_“Why, because I had to dream up pussies to sleep next to me at night?”_

_“You need to stop dreaming all these fucking fake companions and find real friends Kavinsky. Have you ever considered that? Maybe stay straight for a few days, stop fucking shit up, act civil. You might meet someone who can tolerate you.”_

_“I’m hurt Lynch, and here I thought you were a real person.”_

_“As real as you will ever get close to.”_

_Kavinsky picked up the smallest of the three black cats, it purred into his neck. Ronan was taken aback by the gentleness in his touch, he had never seen Kavinksy be soft, not with people, cars, animals, anything, the way he was being with this tiny dream cat._

_“At least this pussy will be here in the morning when I wake up.”_

_“That’s why I’m here Kavinsky, we’re through. I can’t keep coming around here, sneaking around with you. Gansey is on to me and I don’t like who I am when I’m with you. I don’t want to end up like you.”_

_“That’s some bullshit, Lynch. You think you can come in here, and take what you want and walk away without a scratch?”_

_“It was never going to be us, you know that.”_

_“Yeah, yeah, I know you have a hard-on for the poor kid. I bet his balls smell like spam and manual labor.”_

_“At least he works for what he has.”_

_Kavinsky put the cat down gently and in a split second was on Ronan, pushing him back against the wall._

_“You think I didn’t work for this,” he said, gesturing between Ronan and himself, “You think it was easy teaching you all my tricks and letting you fool around with me, masking it with drugs and watching you sneak away the next morning regretting me? Why would I fucking fight for anything Lynch? Why would I work for anything when the only things in my life that care, are the things I created?”_

_Ronan pushed back, and Kavinsky stumbled, his eyes wounded, his mouth hard, his body rigid._

_“I told you from the beginning, I told you the two of us together was bad. The two of us together ends in us both dead Kavinsky and you fucking know it.”_

_“Yeah, you’re probably right. Better me than you, I mean, you matter. Isn’t that what your fuckboy Gansey said, the only difference between me and you’s guys is that you matter?”_

_“You bring it on yourself,” Ronan said, his traitorous voice cracking, emotions high._

_“Okay, Lynch. Whatever you have to tell yourself to sleep at night.”_

_“Fuck you.”_

_“I already did, but hey, if you leave early enough and do enough drugs the night before it doesn’t count right?”_

_“I’m outta here,” Ronan said, his final farewell, the clean break._

_Kavinsky shouted after him, “Better me than you right? If one of us has to burn, better it be me, right? That’s what everyone would want…”_

Ronan felt his face hot, wet, _tears_. 

He picked up the three cats, one by one, the runt last, and placed them into the duffle bag he brought. They were warm, and lifelike. No sign of decay, no sign of rigor mortis. Just three dream things without their dreamer, like his dad’s cows, and his dads barn, and his dad’s wife; his mother. And what Matthew would have been, if he had ended up like Kavinksy; jaded, dancing on a land mind with no idea where the bombs were placed. 

\--

He drove for what seemed like hours; no music, no air, not even blinking, until he arrived. He took the duffle bag, and while he knew he couldn’t harm the three black cats inside he treated them with concern. 

The trees swayed, and a breeze that didn’t exist outside of Cabeswater was bitter on his face the second he entered there. He heard thunder rolling in the dark grey clouds above him, and he knew this would happen; Cabeswater’s weather was being determined by his emotions. 

It began to pour, masking the tears on his face.

“Mom.” He called out and she didn’t reply. 

Only the trees did, as the gusts of wind came they sang out a song through their leaves, it had no words, but he didn’t need words to know it was to the tune of the Lament of the Irish maiden. It was sad, and fitting, and as he carried the three kittens further in, he started to feel them paw at the bag, he began to hear them mew from inside. Alive. They were alive again, unlike their maker.

“Mom, its Ronan, I need to give you something.” He shouted over the storm.

And then he saw her, walking out of trees, a floral crown on her head, her dressed soaked, a smile on her face.

“My dear Ronan, what brings you here and troubles you so, that you bring a storm along with you?”

“Mom, I need you to take care of something for me.” He said.

“Is it the orphan girl? Is she not able to adjust, what with her hooves for feet, and eyes of a doe?”

“No, mom, it's not like that. It’s not—it’s not mine. _They’re_ not mine—not from my dreams.”

She took the bag off his shoulder and began to unzip. One by one little furry black faces appeared, brilliant green eyes, the last of the tree much smaller, the runt, the _Ronan._

“Oh dear, does this mean, you have lost someone?”

“It does. He was…I don’t know what he was to me. But he’s dead, and these were the last things he dreamt.”

“Oh, Ronan I’m so sorry. I can see in your eyes that you loved whoever this was.”

“I didn’t mom…at least, I didn’t know I did until it was too late.”

“Could your love have saved this person?”

“Yes. I mean, no. I don’t think anything could have saved him.”

“Some things aren’t meant to be saved, dear.”

“I didn’t love him. Not like I should have. I mean, I didn’t want too. He wasn’t a good person mom. But I fucked up, I used him… and I fucked up.”

Aurora Lynch managed to gracefully take all three cats into her arms as well as her sons’ hands in one sweep, “Son, it’s time to forgive yourself for whatever it was that you did to this boy. It is obvious that you were not the best version of yourself with him. But sometimes no matter what we do or how hard we try, we can’t save the ones that need it the most. Take your father, for instance, he could have gotten out, long before they hunted him down, but he was in too deep. And that doesn’t mean he didn’t love us, and that doesn’t mean he wasn’t worth saving, but sometimes life is like oil and water Ronan, and when separate, both things have a purpose, but together they just can mix.”

“Will you take care of his cats for me? I want some part of him to live on. I need some part of him to live on. It’s the least I can do.”

“I will take care of them.”

Ronan took the runt from his mother, and despite not being a cat lover, he nuzzled the little furball into his neck, “This one is Ronan, because he was the runt, because he was weak like me.”

“It sounds like your friend knew you better than you know yourself, dear, because anyone that knows anything about the runt of a litter knows that oftentimes, while the runt starts the weakest, and the smallest it oftentimes ends up to be the strongest of them all, because the runt has to fight for what they want. Maybe he saw that in you.”

“Mom, I don’t think he could have seen any good in me, I was my worst self.”

“Well, maybe his final gift to you was this little kitten, as a reminder to fight not only yourself from now on, but the other runts among you, the other weak ones, the outcasts. Fight for them from now on Ronan.”

“I will mom. For Joseph,” he said, and that was the first time--Ronan realized, that he had ever called him by his real name, “For Joseph Kavinsky.”

\--

When Ronan arrived back to Monmouth Adam was there, waiting.

“You’re later than I thought,” Adam said, his eyes heavy, his clothes covered in grease.

“You didn’t have to wait up,” Ronan said, pulling off his jacket and skull cap, kicking his boots off to the corner of his room.

“I think I did. And I think you knew I would.”

Ronan sat on the edge of the bed next to Adam.

“Will you stay with me tonight? I know you don’t like to stay here, but its not a school night, and you look fucking wiped and I could really use your fucking company.”  
Adam took Ronan’s hand this time, because it was his turn to be brave today, to push back his anxieties towards intimacy and be there for Ronan.

“If it means you will tell me what’s been eating at you. Why you have been so distant. If it means you will tell me why your eyes go blank. But most importantly if you tell me why you went to Cabeswater alone.”

Ronan sat up straight.

“How?”

“How do I know?”

“Yeah, I didn’t tell anyone.”

“It was weird Ronan, but I swear I could feel you there, resonating in my bones, like you were in my blood, taking over my nervous system. I just knew.”

“That’s fucking creepy Parrish.”

Adam smiled his easy smile, it didn’t happen often, but he did, triggering Ronan to smile. It seemed like it had been forever since Adam had seen Ronan smile.

“Why were you in Cabeswater today Ronan.”

Ronan took a deep breath, and fought back the urge to defend himself, he was quickly reminded of his mother, and how he had to fight for the weak, for the misunderstood.

“I was there because of Kavinsky.”

Adams face went blank, “He’s alive?”

“No, I had to settle some shit, between me and him, well, between me and the memories of him. I had to…” Ronan stopped, this was that fine line, the one where a normal man might choose to lie, but Ronan wouldn’t, he couldn’t, he never would.

“What Ronan, you can tell me.”

“I had to let him go.”

Adam gently stoked Ronan’s palm this time, he didn’t know what really went on between Ronan and Kavinsky, he only knew it was more than met the eye, and while he often wanted to pry, he knew he was better off not knowing the details.

“And did you?” Adam asked.

Ronan pulled Adams hand to his mouth and kissed it gently, “Yeah, Parrish, I think I did.”

“So, what does this mean for you?” Adam asked.

“I guess it means I can finally forgive myself.”

“How does it feel? Finally giving up whatever you took to Cabeswater?”

“Light. It feels so much fucking lighter.” Ronan said.

Adam pulled Ronan’s eyes to meet him, and it was the first time since Kavinsky died that they looked like Ronan’s eyes again. It was the first time he seemed truly present. Adam couldn’t help but wonder if that was what had kept them from truly diving in and doing this. But he hoped Ronan had found his peace, whatever that looked like today in Cabeswater.

“Are you mad at me?” Ronan asked.

“No, I could never be mad at you for doing something that would set you free, even if it meant leaving me,” Adam said, a hint of worry in his last words, a cry out for reassurance.

Ronan decided the best way to give Adam that, in this moment, was to show him. He took Adams face in his hands and kissed him tenderly, and slow—and reassuring.

Ronan broke the kiss but kept Adams mouth close.

“I didn’t love him properly. I didn’t even know I loved him at all until it was too late. And whatever kind of sick, fucked up love it was, I failed him, and I swear I will never fail you, Adam. I will fight for you—for us.”


End file.
